Rowan looked around for Jeanette before she remembered that her cousin had returned to the tower with her parents. Had she felt anything during the blessing?
“What happened?” Nicholas repeated his question.
She looked at his hand upon her arm, his grip strong and gentle at the same time. She could feel his concern, his curiosity, but she dared not tell him. She shook her head, the only answer she could give, then quickly turned away before she changed her mind.
NICHOLAS FISTED HIS hands to keep himself from reaching out to Rowan again. She didn’t want to tell him what had happened and he couldn’t force her to. All he could do was watch her walk away from him, her shoulders set in a rigid line. Stoic.
But something had come over her during the blessing. Hell, he’d felt something wash over him, as if Lady Elspet had sent a warm river of energy coursing through the bailey, swirling around everyone gathered there.
But where he had felt only the passing of the sensation, Rowan had reacted as if she’d been punched in the gut. She’d staggered, gripped her head and he could not stop himself from reaching out and steadying her. He’d been surprised when she leaned back against him and he had fought the urge to wrap his arms around her, compromising by keeping his hands on her shoulders, holding her upright when her knees threatened to buckle.
He turned his attention to the crowd still lingering around him, scanning the faces for any hint that someone else had felt what Rowan had. But none appeared particularly disturbed by the proceedings.
He thought back to his impressions during the blessing. It was nothing like a blessing from a priest—words, a cross drawn in the air, with no physical impression that anything had changed. But Elspet’s blessing was made of words no one understood and undecipherable symbols drawn upon the air…
It was palpable. Powerful.
Rowan would have been knocked from her feet had he not steadied her. And he had sensed something, like an unseen river flowing through the crowd, filling the bailey, silent, untouchable, yet carrying something in its current, something…
His mind went back and forth between a priest’s blessing and Elspet’s. Elspet’s and a priest’s. They served the same purpose: to protect the clan and the castle.
Like a shield.
Impossible. It could not be. And yet he could not deny the witness of his own senses, of Rowan’s reaction, or of Kenneth’s words. The chief had assured the clan that they were protected and everyone here gathered had accepted his proclamation without question.
All of this pointed to the stories Nicholas had collected of the Highland Targe, an ancient shield that protected this route into the Highlands from invaders. Had he truly just witnessed the shield being set in place? And if so, was Elspet the shield, or could it be something so small it would fit in the sack she had raised to the sky?
Nicholas shook his head. Logic told him none of this could be true, but his instincts screamed otherwise. The Scots were a superstitious lot. Highlanders believed in second sight, in healing with a touch, in selkies, brownies, and the sidhe, the fairy folk who stole human children and left their own changelings in their place. They believed in sacred healing wells, and that they were the makers of their own destiny.
His own upbringing, those precious years amongst his mother’s kin, had taught him that sometimes superstition was less than truth, but sometimes it was more. He had seen enough of these things as a lad to know there was more to this land and these people than the English would ever believe.
He watched the people about him in the bailey, gathered in small knots, chattering away, but there was a calmness to them that hadn’t been there before, as if they believed deep in their bones that they were protected from whatever evil had toppled the wall and threatened their security.
A calmness that wasn’t shared by Rowan. She had been shaken by the blessing, as confused as he had been, but also physically affected. Was she a part of the Targe or was there something else happening that he did not understand?
He whipped back to where he’d last seen Rowan and after a moment spied her on the stair that led to the rampart. Checking the groups still lingering in the bailey, he saw Uilliam-the-bear and Duncan deep in conversation with several other men, their attention elsewhere finally. Not wishing to draw anyone’s notice, especially his keepers’, he moved slowly toward the rampart stair.
When he reached the top he stepped into a shadow, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. After a moment he spied her not far down the wall walk, leaning out over the wall as if she was trying to escape… or fly.
“Rowan?” he called as quietly as possible, not wishing to startle her. She pulled herself back fully inside the wall and turned to him.
“You followed me.” She closed the distance between them, stopping just out of reach. “Why?”
“I was worried about you.” He stepped closer, wanting her to reach out to him.
In the faint glow of the torch light from below he could see her wrap her arms around her torso as if she were cold, or perhaps she was keeping herself from touching him. He preferred that explanation.
“Are you well, lass?” he asked, keeping his voice pitched low and filling it with concern that was only partly feigned.
“I will be fine.” She turned back to the wall and leaned her elbows there. Nicholas matched her stance but stood close enough so he should have felt the heat of her, but he did not.
“What happened?” he asked, taking care not to look at her, but exquisitely aware of her every movement. Her breath hitched at his question and she leaned a little farther over the wall again.
“Nothing.”
He allowed that word to drift between them, waiting for her to fill the silence, but she seemed content to let it remain empty.
“It did not look like ‘nothing.’” He turned to face her, leaning his hip against the wall and cocking his head to try to see her expression. But she actually looked away from him as if she knew what he was up to, the minx.
“It looked like you got punched in the gut,” he continued. “You went ghostly pale. You stumbled backwards into me. You did not answer me until the fourth time I spoke your name. It did not look like nothing.”
She turned to face him, her hip against the wall and her arms once more across her torso. “And I am fine now, so it was nothing.”
They stared at each other for a long moment and Nicholas became aware of a shimmer in her eyes. The lass valiantly fought tears and his respect for her strength of will grew.
He reached across the space separating them and let his knuckles slide over the soft plane of her cheek, unaccountably pleased when his touch drew a faint smile to her lips. “You do not have to be strong all alone, lass.”
She swallowed and notched up her chin. “I do.”
“Nay, you do not.” He took her face gently between his palms, drawing her close. He dropped his voice to a whisper, “You leaned on me a little while ago. You can lean on me now.” Her eyes were fixed on his, her breath feathering across his skin as he lowered his mouth to hers, unable to resist the lure of her strength and sweetness any longer.
At first she stood perfectly still, as if he had startled her, but she did not pull away. He shifted the angle of his head and kissed her again, lingering a little longer over her lush lips, letting himself get a little lost in the faint taste of honey and the scent of fresh mountain air and heather that surrounded him.
“You can lean on me,” he whispered against her mouth.
Tentatively she leaned into the kiss and he barely contained a groan at her acceptance. Her hands came to rest lightly on his chest, heat radiating from the contact. He slid his hands into her hair, pulling her a little closer still. She sighed against his lips, as she parted hers, accepting his deeper kiss. Desire punched into him, sending his body in directions he wasn’t prepared to follow. Not yet.
And yet he could not step away… not yet.
He let himself revel in the softness of her lips, the silkines
s of her hair, the scent that reminded him of a Scottish forest, losing himself for long moments, forgetting everything but this moment, this woman, this kiss. And when the need to take the kiss further almost overwhelmed him, then he pulled himself back to his senses, gentling the kiss, nibbling at the corner of her mouth. Finally he forced himself to pull away, just far enough to break the kiss before he completely lost himself in her softness and the scent.
She opened her eyes and dropped her hands from his chest. Confusion had taken the place of the shimmer of tears. Confusion was better.
“Why did you do that?” she asked.
Without thinking about his answer he said, “Because I have wanted to since first I saw you.” He stroked her cheek again, unable to resist the soft, creamy feel of it and realized he’d spoken the truth. “Can I do it again?”
“Nay.” Her reply was quick and sure. “You should not have followed me up here.”
Disappointment caught him by surprise, quickly followed by a strange flash of pride in her and a certain amount of annoyance that she had not succumbed to his attentions as most lasses did. He stepped back far enough so that he could not feel the heat of her anymore and tried to remember why he had followed her here.
“Perhaps, but clearly something happened to you during the blessing, lass, and I cannot in good conscience let you be alone until I am sure you are recovered completely. Can you not tell me what disturbed you so?”
She didn’t meet his eyes. “I do not know what it was. It happened so fast, and then…” Her voice trailed off into nothingness.
“Then?” he asked.
She looked at him out of the side of her eyes. “Then it was gone, over, whatever. Perhaps I had something for the evening meal that was off? Maybe the honey cake wasn’t any good?” She shrugged but it felt contrived, as if she did it for his benefit.
“Perhaps.”
She smiled at him then and it was as if the sun broke through the night sky. “I do thank you for catching me, for letting me lean on you.” She looked down and he’d swear she was embarrassed.
He watched her take a deep breath as if she fortified herself from something. Him? Perhaps he had muddled her emotions more than she was letting on.
“You are most welcome, mistress, for both.” And the odd thing was that he really meant it. As he watched her go he realized that she had deflected every question he had asked. She was as adept as he was at avoiding saying what he did not want to say. He chuckled. Perhaps this mission wouldn’t be as easy as he’d thought, but it would certainly be interesting.
His thoughts turned back to that kiss and the way Rowan had softened under his lips, as his had softened against hers, and he realized that he would have to tread carefully with the lass lest she charm the truth out of him.
AS ROWAN MOVED through the following day her thoughts kept returning to those few moments over the evening meal, laughing and teasing with Nicholas. Her body heated all over again every time she remembered the feel of his lips on hers, the hard plane of his chest under her palms, the feel of his heart hammering as fast as hers.
Rowan slowed her pace as she descended the stairs from the great hall into the deeply shadowed bailey. She needed a moment to regain her equilibrium before she returned to her aunt’s bedside. Never had she reacted to a man the way she did to this stranger. Nicholas. Just the thought of his name sent a little thrill over her skin, heating her cheeks as if she were a lass caught up in her first flush of infatuation.
His bravery in helping her cousin and herself escape the collapsing wall, his willingness to keep Scotia’s tryst a secret, his laughter over wee Ian’s antics, and his gentle caresses and unexpected kiss had filled her up as if she had been an empty ewer. The closeness of his body as they had stood on the ramparts had warmed her in ways she wasn’t prepared for and didn’t completely understand.
Longing echoed just behind her heart. She had not thought herself wanting in any way and yet it had taken Nicholas of Achnamara only a pair of days to leave her feeling as if she’d been missing something important in her life.
She stopped at the tower door, her hand on the cold iron handle, letting the reality of the situation settle around her. She was daft to let Nicholas make her feel this way. She was sad over Elspet’s failing health, her uncle’s barely contained worry, Scotia’s childish ways, and the heavy responsibilities that would soon fall on Jeanette’s shoulders. And then there were these headaches, the memory that she couldn’t quite grab but that left her panicked anytime she tried to even think about it, and the odd reaction she had to the blessing. Nay, it was not surprising that the diversion of a man with warm brown eyes and an easy laugh should lift her out of that sadness and confusion for a few moments.
That was all she was feeling—relief, however brief, from the burdens that lay upon them all. She was not lacking in anything. She was loved, respected, needed. She wanted for nothing and yet, as she lifted the latch and pushed the door inward, she couldn’t help but wish for one more kiss from Nicholas.
Folly. She was not Scotia, losing all sense because some braw lad smiled at her… or kissed her. It was nice to be distracted from her panic and everything else that was happening to those she loved, but that was all. She took the stairs two at a time, stopping at the top of the tower to peer in Elspet’s chamber to the right.
“Come in, niece.” Elspet’s weak voice drifted through the darkness.
An unwelcome urge to pretend she had not heard held her still for a moment before she pushed it away. “You have slept a long time, Auntie,” she said, moving quickly to the hearth to stir the fire back to life. “Are you hungry?”
“I did not mean to sleep.”
“Then you should not have taxed yourself with the blessing.” Rowan winced at the harshness in her own words. She took a breath to quiet her mind and stirred the kettle of broth that hung over the fire. “Is there aught I can get you?”
A quiet sigh. “Do not fash yourself.”
“Auntie, that is what I am here for. You have taken good care of your own daughters and me these many years. It is our turn to take care of you.”
“Nay. You should not have to.”
“But we want to.”
“Contrary, as always.” Elspet’s laugh was little more than a wheezy breath. “ ’Tis what your own sweet mother said about you when you were but three.”
Rowan quickly rounded the bed, laying a hand upon Elspet’s forehead. It was cool for a change, but the wheezy laugh was now a quieter, but still wheezy, breath. “Would you take some broth?”
“Is it here?”
Rowan was so happy to hear her interested in broth that one would think her aunt had declared herself cured. “Aye. It has gone a bit cool but I have roused the fire. It shall be warm again soon.” She adjusted the woolen blanket around Elspet better as the topic foremost on her mind begged to be broached.
“Auntie, may I ask you something?”
Elspet tried to smile, but it was mostly in her eyes. “Of course, my lassie.”
“You are not too tired?”
“Ask me now. The morn is far away.”
Rowan swallowed. More and more, Elspet spoke as if her time were only in the here and now, not in the future.
“Have you ever felt…” Rowan tried to find words to describe what had happened to her during the blessing. “Have you ever felt something odd,” she began again, determined to continue this time, “when you made the blessing? I felt something this time that I never have before.”
Elspet’s eyes narrowed and she tried to sit up in the bed. Rowan helped her, noting that only yesterday her aunt had the strength to sit up on her own. Rowan settled an arisaid around Elspet’s narrow shoulders and the blankets over her lap.
“Tell me what you felt,” Elspet said. Her voice surprised Rowan in its intensity.
Rowan sat on the bed next to her aunt. “It was like a stream was rising through my legs and trying to push its way out of my skin, a pressure, a pulsing.”
She almost added that Nicholas had had to keep her from falling but she didn’t want to share that part for some reason, not yet at any rate. She rubbed that spot between her brows that had started to ache again. “Do you ken what it was, Auntie?”
“Were you the only one to experience such a thing?”
Rowan shrugged and rose from the side of the bed where she had perched. “I did not see anyone else who seemed… uncomfortable. I have not spoken of this with anyone, though.” She moved back to the hearth to stir the broth that was not yet warmed. She placed another peat on the fire and knelt down to blow on the embers. “What do you think it was?”
“What do you think it was?” Elspet asked quietly.
Rowan swallowed hard and sat back on her heels. “I do not ken, but it raised a panic in me the like of which I have never experienced.” She stopped as that elusive memory skittered through her mind, once more slipping out of her grasp. Something about that memory was connected to what had happened to her in the bailey… and to the curtain wall falling toward her, as if both things were familiar.
She closed her eyes and forced herself to remember the moment when she knew the wall was falling toward her. The pounding in her head had grown stronger and stronger, pulsing just as it had during the blessing in the bailey, just as it was now.
She rubbed the spot between her brows where the pain always seemed to gather and tried to settle her mind, to think, to be ready to grab that memory and drag it into the light.
The wall falling… The pressure building… Her head pounding…
The image of a wall falling, hurtling toward her, burst behind her eyes. Fear writhed in her stomach. Guilt strangled her heart, and grief… so much grief. She groaned and gripped her head, pressing against unbearable pressure.
“Do you remember?” Elspet’s voice was quiet and commanding. Like a knife, it cut through the rising panic, grounding her here in this place with this woman who had always kept her safe. “Think, Rowan.”
Highlander Betrayed (Guardians of the Targe) Page 8